


one day i’ll stop keeping track and give myself time to react

by uaevuon



Series: Legends Never Die (the omegaverse geass AU) [9]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Immortality, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Phichimetti, Sci-Fi Elements, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 04:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaevuon/pseuds/uaevuon
Summary: Yuuri stepped into the chill of the rink just as practice began, losing precious moments to changing into his skates. As he stepped onto the ice, gliding into warm-ups, Chris matched his speed, forgoing a hello for quiet teasing: “You look well. Had fun last night?”Yuuri remembered, with a start that chilled him to his core, that Chris’s hotel room was next door to his. He choked out some not-so-polite words, hoping Chris in all his age and wisdom didn’t understand Japanese, then tried to laugh it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Chris.”





	one day i’ll stop keeping track and give myself time to react

**Author's Note:**

> **this work is part of a series, and will not make any sense without having read the previous parts.**
> 
> thank you to everyone for your comments! I only got a chance to reply to some of them, but please rest assured i read and deeply appreciate each and every one. I’m so glad that so many of you are enjoying this weird, wild fic as much as i have enjoyed writing it. <3
> 
> CW: more smut, mentions of mpreg and birth control

When Yuuri woke, it was to the sleep-thick voice of his coach and lover murmuring, “I should have known my Yuuri was a squirter.”

Yuuri groaned and shoved at Viktor’s chest, ineffectual as his limbs had not yet accepted the call to wakefulness. 

“You ruined my suit,” Viktor said.

“I ruined your pants. The jacket is fine.”

“You can’t just mix and match Pra-”

Yuuri cut him off with a kiss, morning breath and all, until Viktor forgot all about it. Then they ordered breakfast, and kissed some more while they waited, and eventually Viktor remembered his suit again, and by the time the food came he’d wrapped himself up in a blanket burrito of mourning and refused to come out or allow Yuuri entry. 

Yuuri quickly wrapped himself in a robe. He tipped the delivery staff well and insisted on bringing in the cart himself to protect the privacy of his mate and their temporary nest. 

“Viktor, the longer you stay in there, the more I start to think you regret what we did last night.”

Viktor’s head popped out of the blankets, tentatively giving Yuuri his attention. “Of course I don’t regret it.”

“And, to be fair, you did most of the ruining on your own.”

That was true, and the harsh reality of it was what made Viktor finally leave his warm tortilla of cotton and shame. 

Viktor sat down to breakfast at the tiny corner table by the window, across from Yuuri. He saw Yuuri’s expression, cautious but clearly trying not to laugh, and asked, “What? Is it my face?”

Yuuri did laugh then. “No, your hair. It’s…” 

Viktor reached up, feeling a rat’s nest on one side of his head and a crunchy frizz on the other. “Oh, no.” He sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll have to cut it all off again.”

“No!” Yuuri shouted, immediately serious. He’d like Viktor in any style of hair, and would never deny the gently tousled side-cut he’d sported in his mid-20s looked scorchingly hot on him, but the shining length Viktor had grown back out was equally enchanting, and Yuuri knew how dearly Viktor cared for it. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll help you comb it out.”

Viktor shook his head, glum, as he patted the tangles that poofed his hair into a silvery mane. “There’s no amount of conditioner that can untangle this mess.”

Yuuri reached out and plucked a bobby pin from the worst of it, shaking and twisting it free; the hair loosened, still tangled but at least unfurling past Viktor’s shoulder. 

“See? It’s not so bad. Eat,” Yuuri said. “Practice is in two hours.” 

“I should be the one telling you that.” But Viktor tucked in anyway, and after they finished he allowed Yuuri to carefully work at his hair with a wide toothed-comb and spritzes of diluted leave-in conditioner. 

By the time they were showered (separately) and dressed (slowly, because Viktor kept sneaking in kisses and Yuuri let him with a content smile and greedy hands) there were only minutes to spare for getting to morning practice; thankfully the arena was nearby, attached to the hotel’s third floor by a single, direct skywalk. 

Yuuri stepped into the chill of the rink just as practice began, losing precious moments to changing into his skates. As he stepped onto the ice, gliding into warm-ups, Chris matched his speed, forgoing a hello for quiet teasing: “You look well. Had fun last night?”

Yuuri remembered, with a start that chilled him to his core, that Chris’s hotel room was next door to his. He choked out some not-so-polite words, hoping Chris in all his age and wisdom didn’t understand Japanese, then tried to laugh it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Chris.”

Chris put an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and leaned into him as he took a turn around one end of the ice. “I hear you’re a squirter,” he whispered in Yuuri’s ear, much too close. 

“ _Chris!_ ” Yuuri ducked away from him, his cheeks flaming. If he was lucky, no-one else would notice. 

“Oh, Yuuri. We’re both omegas here. Do tell me how it feels, I’ve never in all my years done _that_ before.”

Yuuri refused, and turned to his practice with his full attention. 

After his practice slot, Yuuri got caught up in interviews. Being in the lead after the short program, everyone wanted a quote from him. Most asked about his skating, about his theme for the season, about his sudden change in coach and if his new coach’s eerie resemblance to hero and legend Viktor Nikiforov influenced his decision. Some wanted to know about the flaunting of his sexuality in _On Love: Eros_ , and if the lascivious nature of his short program related to some sort of secret relationship in his life… Yuuri ignored those questions. Technically, he’d already answered them, but not in quite those words. 

And then, the morning of the free skate, someone asked if being in first place after the short program made him at all nervous, considering his not-infrequent meltdowns when faced with similar success, and Yuuri just about passed through the floor. 

Viktor, sensing his mounting distress, dismissed the crowd with short words and pulled Yuuri aside. First, into the waiting area, and then, out to the skywalk, towards their hotel. 

Yuuri was silent as they crossed the wide elevated tunnels; in the small elevator, his harsh breaths were far too loud. 

“Stretch,” Viktor ordered, back in their room. “And then run through your choreography. No-one will bother us here. I’m going to shower, okay? Give you some space. But I’ll be right here with you. If you need me, just knock, and I’ll come out.” 

Yuuri did as he was told, flexing each muscle one by one, then moving into the fluid motions of his free program. There was nothing calming about it, though, and too soon Viktor stepped out of the shower to see Yuuri huddled up in the corner of the room, shaking with nerves. His hands covered his ears, and he shrank, instinctively burrowing into his own body when he didn’t have a pile of blankets to sink into. 

Viktor knelt down beside him, tucking the ends of his robe under his knees. His hands wavered in the air at his sides, wary. “Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice, low and deceptively calm, broke through the buzzing in Yuuri’s ears. “What can I do to help you?”

Yuuri shook his head; he kept his hands over his ears, blocking out all but the insistent ringing in his head. 

“Should I kiss you?” Viktor asked. He reached a hand out, but stopped halfway, letting his hand hang awkwardly in the air between them. 

“No,” Yuuri bit out. The buzzing got louder; the demons in his brain more determined than ever to tear him apart. “Just… come closer?”

Viktor didn’t hesitate. He was in Yuuri’s space in a moment, arms cocooning him, personal bubbles entirely discarded. “How about this?”

Yuuri nodded into Viktor’s shoulder, and took a deep breath, audible in the quiet of their hotel room. His hands came away from his ears, resting on Viktor’s broad chest. 

“Is there anything else?” 

Yuuri’s shoulders moved up and down, a halfhearted shrug.

“What is it that you’re so afraid of?” Viktor asked. “It’s normal to be nervous, but this is something else.”

“I don’t want to screw this up,” Yuuri said, voice shaky. “I don’t want to reflect badly on you. Everyone knows you’re my hero, and that you inspire me. If I mess up again, it’s like I’m spitting on your legacy.”

“I don’t care about my legacy, Yuuri.”

“ _But I do!_ ” Yuuri shouted as he pulled away, no longer muffled by Viktor’s robe. 

Tears started to leak from his eyes, dripping onto his cheeks and sliding down to collect on his chin and neck. Once the first tears slipped out, the rest followed, and Yuuri’s eyes bubbled over with the flow. 

“Your legacy is the reason I started skating in the first place. It’s pushed me this far. It’s dragged me around the world and maybe I haven’t won a world title yet but I have a couple half-decent medals to my name. It’s all because of you, and your legacy, that I was able to get this far, and it’s because of your legacy that I was good enough to bring you to me.” 

Yuuri quieted, sinking into Viktor’s hold with a few shaking breaths. 

“I know it’s my job to become better than you ever were. But I won’t stand for you putting down your past. You may not remember doing any of it, but it means a lot to so many people.” 

“I’m sorry,” Viktor whispered. He knew Yuuri held him up as a hero, knew the depths of Yuuri’s worshipful fanaticism; he should know better than to belittle that. 

“You’ve helped me so much, Viktor. More than you even know. I just worry that I’ll let you down, and you’ll have done all this for nothing after all.”

“Would it be better if I left?” Viktor didn’t want to, not in the least! But if it would help Yuuri -- no, _no_ , Viktor knew he was too selfish for that but still! He had to wonder. 

“No. Definitely not.” Yuuri clutched at Viktor’s robe, fingernails digging into terry cloth. He rubbed his face on it to wipe his tears, glad Viktor hadn’t done his makeup yet or it would be smudged all over. “Don’t ever leave me.” 

“Never, huh?” Viktor smiled into Yuuri’s soft hair, pulling him close, taking in his scent. “That’s a tall order.” 

“Good thing you’re one-eighty.”

“I’m only a hundred twenty seven, excuse you!”

“Your _height_.” 

A “tall” pun. Of course. Viktor shook his head, rubbing his nose against Yuuri’s scalp. 

A faint buzzing noise spurred Yuuri into motion; with a groan, he reached for his discarded watch and dismissed the alarm he’d set to wake him, from what could have been a relaxing nap, in time for the competition. “We should get ready to go. I assume you have another suit? Since we kind of ruined the first one.” 

Viktor nodded, flushing bright in his cheeks as he remembered. “Ah -- yeah. This one’s grey. Tailored. Newer. More replaceable, should we get carried away again.” 

Yuuri smiled, and it warmed Viktor’s heart to see that tiny lift in his expression, after Yuuri been so stricken all day. His eyes were still a little pink with unshed tears; his heartbeat still jackhammering at his wrist under Viktor’s thumb as he rubbed side to side. But Yuuri stood steadily, and he helped Viktor dress with fingers that only shook a little. Viktor gelled back Yuuri’s hair and painted his face, and Yuuri dried and brushed Viktor’s hair as well, and helped him pull it into a secure bun at the back of his neck, with a little twist pinned around the edges to give it the spark of elegance Viktor so liked. Viktor arranged his fringe about his face, artfully covering up the scar on his forehead. 

The kisses Yuuri left on Viktor’s neck while he worked -- that was the best part of grooming. 

“Yuuri.” 

“Mm?” Yuuri answered, deep in an oral exploration of the skin covering Viktor’s levator scapulae. 

“If you get gold, I want you to fuck me.” 

Yuuri’s body went rigid, and for a moment Viktor worried he’d said the wrong thing, pushed Yuuri before he was ready, _again_ \-- but then Yuuri breathed out, slow and hot, against his neck. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll fuck you.”

Yuuri’s forehead came down on Viktor’s shoulder, crinkling his collar. “That wouldn’t be a punishment.”

“Who says I want to punish you?” Viktor leaned back against Yuuri; his suit would just have to suffer. “You don’t deserve a punishment. Though I wouldn’t mind if you punished me a little.”

“What have you done to deserve it?” 

Viktor turned around, and he caught up Yuuri’s lips in a soft kiss before he answered. “I let my precious student get so worried about my legacy that he couldn’t sleep, and then I didn’t know how to fix it. As your coach, I should really know better than that by now.” 

“Viktor.”

“Come on, Yuuri. Humor me a little.” 

“All right. If I miss the podium, I’ll bring you back here and spank you. And then I’ll ride you until you come, empty and begging for me.” 

Viktor whined, his hands scrabbling for his fly as his heart raced. “I’m going to need underwear if you’re going to talk like that.”

Yuuri laughed as Viktor rushed around the hotel room, in his shirt and jacket but with his ass completely bare, shirttails flapping about, searching for one of his slightly more modest black thongs. After a moment of consideration, Viktor slinked off to the bathroom, and came back with one of Yuuri’s washable pantyliners. 

“I will not have you ruining another gorgeous suit of mine in public,” Viktor said, slipping the thong up his legs and tucking the liner in. It wouldn’t be a foolproof protection against the gushing of his cunt, but it was something. 

“And in private?”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Viktor mumbled. His cheeks were red as cherries. 

All pants and heartbeats accounted for, they left the hotel. 

Yuuri still felt rattled, and Viktor cautious beside him. Neither were particularly well-rested, and Yuuri could feel the strain of competition in his legs on top of the anxiety still swirling in his brain and twisting all his organs. 

But Viktor was beside him the whole time, never faltering in his support, and when Yuuri skated last, he was there to wrap up Yuuri’s little toe so that it didn’t pinch, to lace up his boots, and to remind him that no matter how he did technically, there was no-one else in the world who could skate this program like Yuuri. This was the choreography they’d built together, with music that described Yuuri’s very soul. _Yūri on Ice_ was Yuuri’s program, and no-one could take it from him. 

Yuuri already knew, as soon as the music began, that his execution wouldn’t be perfect. It wasn’t so much a decision he made as just a feeling, perhaps a self-fulfilling prophecy to some extent. But he didn’t think about that while he skated. Instead his thoughts turned inward, to himself and his feelings, the swirling mess of emotions within him, as well as outward, to Viktor and how he’d tried to help, even if he didn’t quite know what to do. He was unprepared, though this wasn’t the first time he’d seen Yuuri crack under pressure like this. Still, he’d reassured Yuuri, in his own way. 

Yuuri felt his lips quirk up, and his eyes lifted from where they’d been trained on the ice. Viktor was such a fool, wasn’t he? But Yuuri loved him anyway, ridiculous as he was. 

He realized in that moment that his skate hadn’t gone as badly as he expected. He fell a couple times, but it wasn’t awful, was it? He still might make first place, if he really pushed himself in the second half. And he felt… good. Better than he had all day, despite the sleepless night and the crying and everything else. 

Red edged in from the periphery of his blurred vision, his contract activating in the last minute of his free skate, but Yuuri paid it no mind. He had no anxiety left to give the audience, only a little spark of hope and a deep well of love. 

_I wonder how Viktor would react_ , Yuuri thought, and before he even really decided to do it, he’d switched the entry of his final jump to his left foot. The jump was a blur, and in the moment before he was airborne Yuuri could only hope he would manage four rotations. 

His skate caught the ice on the landing, but the angle was just a bit too sharp, and his feet flew out from under him. Yuuri fell, his hip and thigh smacking down on the ice hard enough that he could already feel the bruise forming even as he rolled over and used the momentum to get back on his feet, gliding into his final steps and his combination spin almost as if there had been no interruption at all. 

The cheers were louder than ever as Yuuri took his bows, his contract fading as he blinked ice crystals off his lashes. He narrowly avoided an onigiri plush colliding with his head as he looked around for Viktor, myopia making his search nearly futile. He wondered if Viktor would be mad that he’d changed up the jump elements at the last moment, hinging his program on a quad he hardly even attempted in practice. But it was _Viktor’s_ quad, so surely Viktor couldn’t be angry -- 

_There_. Viktor’s brown coat, the soft wool that shouldn’t match his suit but still somehow worked, flapping around him as he ran from his perch in front of the judges to the kiss and cry opposite. Yuuri followed the blur with his eyes for a moment before taking off, toe pick carving a dent into the ice nearly as deep as Chris’s quad Lutz. 

He wanted to shout Viktor’s name, but he held back, knowing the cameras were all trained on him. 

“You saw, right? Didn’t I do great?” 

Yuuri had no idea where that sudden burst of confidence had come from, but _damn it_ , he’d done well! He’d landed a quad flip, for the love of --

Oh. That was Viktor’s face. On his face. 

_Mm, strawberry_. 

In front of the whole _world_. 

The wind knocked out of Yuuri’s chest as his back hit the ice, feeling bruises form a second time, but his head felt little of the impact, cushioned by Viktor’s hand cradling him. The knuckles below his skull gave way with a _crunch_ that might have been sickening had Yuuri had even the ability to breathe. 

Viktor drew himself up off Yuuri’s chest, hovering for a moment while Yuuri choked in a breath and stared at him, eyes wide with shock. The ice at his back, melting, frigid water seeping into his clothing, was a godsend as it soothed what would no doubt soon be an aching back. Another breath, and he gasped out, “Did I surprise you that much?”

Viktor’s worried eyes softened, his lips twitching into a grin. His hair was mussed by the fall; his coat’s lapels askew. “Of course. I knew you wanted to show the whole world I’m yours -- but I didn’t think you’d do it like _that_.” 

Yuuri could only laugh, breathless and giddy. He let Viktor help him up with his unbroken hand and lead Yuuri to the kiss and cry on wobbly, slick-heeled vintage Oxfords. They sat side-to-side; watched the scores come in, verifying Yuuri’s quad and taking off points for the fall, for his shaky start, for -- 

“Obscenity?” Viktor groused at the official who explained the final point deduction. 

“No kissing on the ice. It’s been a rule for over a century.” 

Viktor’s mouth hung open. If he’d known that -- well. He would have waited until Yuuri was _off the ice_ to show his appreciation. 

The official just looked at him for a moment, and shook his head. _You should know this_ , his expression said, and yeah, Viktor should. 

Yuuri took it well, though. He hadn’t skated clean, by any means. While a quad flip was impressive, it didn’t make up for all the negative GOE from the falls, the many missed or stumbled jumps, the under-rotated spins. He was content with silver. Ecstatic, in fact, if his dazed smile on the podium was anything to go by. 

But, less than two points separated first and third place. Yuuri, with a score almost smack in the middle of Phichit and Chris, could have easily overtaken his best friend for first without Viktor’s impulsive display. Viktor slumped ungracefully over the boards, pouting, as Yuuri came towards him after all the photos. Viktor’s hand, now fully healed by his body’s regenerative bullshittery, gripped the wall tightly. 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri.” 

“For what?” 

Yuuri, still walking on air, his silver medal pinched between awed fingers, had no idea. Viktor sighed. “I’m the reason you got silver.”

“Well, yes. I wouldn’t be here at all without you, much less be doing so well.”

“No, I mean… They deducted a point because I jumped on the ice and kissed you.” 

“Oh.” Yuuri looked down at his medal… and shrugged. “Phichit deserved gold. He skated two perfect programs; I messed up. I’ll make it up at Rostelecom.” He nodded to himself, mouth set in a determined line. 

Viktor looked up at him, suddenly wanted to melt into the floor, he was so helpless at the sight of Yuuri’s fierce passion to win, and by his own merits -- not scraping by under the weight of what he saw to be failure. He bit his tongue before the words that tickled the back of his throat spouted out, the too-forward _I love you_ that he knew Yuuri would repeat. He could even see in his mind’s eye how those beautiful chocolate eyes would soften, how his whole body would go lax in the warm cocoon of Viktor’s words, how Yuuri would smile bashfully, whisper out his response… 

And Viktor knew it would only be accompanied by a sinking in his gut, when he felt the telltale change, the inevitable spark, the irreversible finality. 

No, he kept his mouth shut. Even if it hurt, even if the emotions that he bottled within threatened to burst from him at any moment. He loved Yuuri, through and through. If there was any doubt in his mind before, there was none left now. 

But he couldn’t do it. No. He couldn’t tie Yuuri to him like that. As much as Yuuri had claimed Viktor as his own, Viktor couldn’t claim Yuuri. It would hurt too much for them both, when they eventually had to say goodbye. 

Because goodbye was inevitable. Even if Yuuri broke Viktor’s records, even if Viktor settled down with him for the rest of Yuuri’s life. It would be the rest of _Yuuri’s_ life -- or the rest of Viktor’s. One of them would have to move on alone, no matter the outcome. 

Viktor had avoided thinking about it this long, thinking maybe Yuuri would tire of him, would realize how high-maintenance he was and how out of touch with humanity. But it was becoming plainly clear that Yuuri only intended to get more and more attached, that in Yuuri’s eyes, beneath the gilded façade of The Late Legend Viktor Nikiforov, the rusting copper that was his real, ridiculous self was just as admirable, if not more so. 

Yuuri loved him. Viktor could see it clear as day. Had heard it from Yuuri’s own lips, just roundabout enough that it confused and obscured, but the true meaning was still there. 

Yuuri, who wrapped his arms around Viktor and thanked him, quiet and judgement-free. Yuuri, who led him by the hand to their hotel room, who stripped him bare and ate him out with an enthusiasm Viktor could hardly even dream of. Yuuri, who climbed on top of Viktor, who mumbled something about an IUD and fulfilling the terms of their bet before sinking down onto Viktor’s bare cock, his head thrown back in ecstasy. 

He rode Viktor with an intensity that Viktor could scarcely comprehend, racing as Viktor was towards a second orgasm, his cunt still spasming with the aftershocks of the first. Yuuri fisted his own cock, hand covering the head and swirling around it, all wrist, the short, thick shaft ignored save for when his hips bucked too hard and pushed his cock through the circle of his thumb and index finger. 

“Yuuri, Yuuri,” Viktor moaned, over and over, his lover’s name at the forefront of his thoughts. “So beautiful,” he said, and he ran his hands over Yuuri’s thighs, palms worshipping the ample flesh and the thick cords of muscle that flexed beneath, packed tight and bulging with the strain of competition followed by _this_ , this beautiful, frantic mess of sex that Viktor had known was coming but couldn’t possibly have ever prepared for. Yuuri was gorgeous, even with his skin bruised all up and down his hips and one of his thighs, his palms scraped, his hair mussed. He smelled like sweat and arousal, and Viktor found his eyes wandering from Yuuri’s face to his cock to his nipples, which bounced before his eyes. Yuuri’s chest was less defined than his legs by far, and weighted by a small amount of breast tissue that had accumulated over the course of years of heats and one triple-pregnancy. 

Viktor lifted one hand from Yuuri’s hard-working thigh to cup the small breast, squeezing lightly. There wasn’t much to hold. The cropped athletic undershirts Yuuri wore during practice were more like compression tanks than sports bras, keeping his body streamlined more so than providing support, because more wasn’t really needed. Still, Yuuri gasped and bit his lip when Viktor squeezed. No milk came forth, unlike the last time Viktor had watched Yuuri touch himself here, but Yuuri was sensitive all the same, and when Viktor pinched, he whined, the nipple turning hard and reddening by the moment. 

Yuuri leaned forward, Viktor’s hand and his cock crushed between them; his mouth crashed into Viktor’s for one searing kiss while his hips continued to roll in languid circles, slowing now that he focussed on the connection of their mouths. Then Yuuri broke away, heat in his eyes as he stared Viktor down. His chest arched into Viktor’s hand, still fondling him, cradling the weight of his small breast, pinching the firm nipple. 

Then Yuuri arched the other way, and took one of Viktor’s nipples into his mouth. 

It might have been retaliation, but Viktor was in no state to comprehend that. His body lit up, now more than ever with teeth scraping over his puffy areola, lips sucking his nipple into hardness, teasing it out. Viktor wasn’t graced with Yuuri’s softness here, but he was so much more sensitive, crying out and legs tensing as he tried so hard not to come yet. 

“Viktor,” Yuuri mumbled, his lips still on Viktor’s skin. He kissed Viktor’s nipple, tongued at it, swirling saliva around the pink skin. He sucked it back into his mouth, bit, tilted his head to twist -- 

“Oh!” Viktor’s back came up off the bed and his eyes screwed shut. He couldn’t watch, he couldn’t _think_. “So good. Yuuri, so good.” 

Yuuri attacked the other nipple with just as much vigor, smirking around sloppy kisses and harsh bites. His hips moved faster now, erratic, and his moans against Viktor’s skin turned breathy, and then desperate. 

“Going to come?” Viktor asked, though he may have garbled it a little. 

“Coming, coming, so close, Viktor!” Yuuri’s nails scrabbled at Viktor’s back, shoved between him and the bed. 

“Yuuri, _please_.”

“Come in me, Viktor. Fill me up.” Yuuri pleaded, in between laving at Viktor’s chest. “Now, now, come in me, _now!_ ”

And Viktor did, spilling inside him with weak spurts of fluid. He wished his body could offer more, to fill Yuuri as he’d been asked, almost ordered, even as Yuuri milked him for all he had, clenching around Viktor just before he tightened impossibly, like a vice, and came as well. Yuuri’s seed painted Viktor’s stomach, and his cunt splashed wet and warm between them, dripping from their thighs to stain the bed sheets. Yuuri whined, continuing to move even after they’d both come, grinding down on Viktor’s softening cock until his spasms stopped and all that was left was the warm slick of their combined releases. 

He collapsed on Viktor’s chest, not having far to fall with how close they were pressed. Still, Yuuri didn’t move his hips away. He’d held Viktor’s softening cock within him until it slipped out on its own, spent, and rubbed against it still, resting small and graceless on Viktor’s thigh. 

Only then did Viktor wonder if he’d really satisfied Yuuri. As an omega, his size couldn’t hold a candle to the enormous knotted alpha dildos Yuuri had for his heats. But Yuuri had no complaints, curled happily around Viktor. And then Yuuri’s chest started to vibrate, confusing Viktor thoroughly until he heard it, the delightful rumble of a purr. 

Viktor couldn’t stop the reaction if he wanted to; he purred back, low and content. 

Yuuri rubbed his face against Viktor’s chest, nuzzling, the purrs coming louder for a moment before they stopped. “Next time, I get to fuck you,” Yuuri murmured. 

Viktor _wanted_ , oh how much he wanted it. He wanted to feel Yuuri inside him; had for so long. But the logistics of it; would they need condoms? They may not have to worry about diseases, what with Viktor’s complete immunity to them, but there was still the matter of pregnancy risk. Yuuri might have been on birth control, but Viktor wasn’t, and they had no way to confirm if Viktor could carry a child, with only his pitiful excuse for heat-milk to go off of. But would Yuuri’s omega biology, more suited to fertility than virility, combined with Viktor’s weak omega, even be a concern? 

He resolved to think about that later. Viktor knew what he wanted. He’d loved being inside Yuuri, but if he could be perfectly selfish, he wanted it the other way, perhaps even more so. He craved it, ever since the first press of that dildo at his entrance, the softness of his lips enveloping the head before the wet, clenching heat of him did. He wanted to bear down like that on Yuuri’s cock, short but girthy, and feel Yuuri’s release inside of him. 

He also desperately wanted Yuuri to sit on his face, to drip wet and slick all over his mouth, to clench around his tongue, to squirt helplessly from his cunt all over Viktor’s cheeks and chin… but they had time. 

Viktor’s arms, weak from orgasm, lifted to encircle Yuuri. He hugged him tightly; their quiet purring reverberated between them, sinking the pair into a content haze. 

Yuuri’s silver medal, discarded on the corner of the bed, glinted in the light of the sunset through the window.

\---

Viktor watched from the shadows. Yuuri, gliding across the ice as if dancing on air, performed a stripped-down version of Viktor’s _Stay Close to Me_ program as his exhibition. Yuuri had been resistant to downgrading jumps, but Viktor insisted, and it turned out for the best; Yuuri was still bruised from yesterday, all up his side and on his shoulders, and he’d strained his legs on top of that, fucking himself down of Viktor. Viktor had washed and massaged his feet and legs in the morning, long fingers digging deep into tight muscle, but Yuuri couldn’t disguise the slight wobble on the landing of his axel, the only triple Viktor allowed him. 

If Yuuri won gold at the final, Viktor might consider allowing him a quad or two. But just because Yuuri could pull off a quad Lutz after his heat didn’t mean Viktor was going to let him at it whenever. 

Viktor leaned over the barrier, his hand cupping his chin and mouth, as he watched Yuuri move. Even tired as he was, he skated with grace and a musicality Viktor had only ever dreamed of achieving. Depending on Yuuri’s mood and his choice of movement, he could be anything he wanted. He could seduce, he could inspire, he could even turn a crowd to desperate longing for companionship as he did now. Yuuri knew well a loneliness that he could transfer to the cry for help that was _Stay Close to Me_. It wasn’t the same as Viktor’s crushing loveless and lifeless depression from before he became immortal, nor the pointless existence he’d suffered the past hundred years, but something all his own. 

It was an experience of love that encompassed all parts of his life but one. Yuuri had, up to now, no eternal, unconditional love, based on complete understanding of one another, on devotion and a need for closeness. He knew love, but was never inspired to use the word until so recently that he could still reach out not far at all and feel that hole in his heart that needed filling with as much desperation as his heat-charged body. 

Viktor, who’d known only distant love alongside a self-imposed isolation by the time he’d choreographed this program, could relate. 

Yuuri’s sweep of the ice took him close to the boards where Viktor rested. Viktor lifted himself up off the barrier to look Yuuri in the eye, as Yuuri reached for him, his hands swirling in the air around the shape of Viktor’s face. Their expressions matched, mirrored awed smiles and eyes glittering with love. Yuuri backed away, continuing to gesture at Viktor, touching his hands to his chest and pushing outward, as if throwing his heart to Viktor. 

The way Yuuri skated this, the second half was too hopeful for the grim, aggressive lyrics, which sang of cutting out the hearts of those who were lucky enough to experience the love that Viktor had once so lacked. Instead, Yuuri cut out his own heart and offered it to Viktor, who, in turn, offered his own. Yuuri danced what Viktor had designed to be a harsh and pleading choreographic sequence as if it were one half of a romantic pair ice dance, or a first dance at a wedding. Something hopeful and indicative of a honeymoon phase, much like the one they were in now, but continuing through consummation and into the rest of their lives, _‘til death do us part_.

Viktor rubbed his thighs together. _Not now, thirst_. 

Yuuri breathed hard in his final position, chest heaving with the effort. He held it for a moment, then relaxed. He waved at the crowd with a sheepish smile, as if he’d displayed too much of his heart, but there was no regret as he left the ice and nearly tumbled into Viktor’s arms. 

“After Phichit’s exhibition, I want to sleep,” Yuuri mumbled into Viktor’s ear. His skates made them nearly the same height, Yuuri just a hair taller than Viktor with his skate guards on. 

Phichit took the ice in a loose tank top and the shortest shorts Viktor had ever seen in an ice rink; his legs were all gooseflesh, but Phichit grinned wide and ecstatic as he skated to a pop song from the 2050’s, with a choreography riddled with high kicks and the sorts of ridiculous spin poses that wouldn’t count towards his program score in competition. He enjoyed himself to the fullest, even going so far as sliding smoothly from a rather risque cantilever that rode his shorts up to the crease of his thigh, into a childish spin on his butt with his knees drawn up close to his chest. Then his ending pose, sprawled out on cold ice and laughing, carefree. 

Phichit picked himself up and dusted snow and frigid water off the back of his calves, the wiry muscle pulling taut to screams from the devoted audience. He waggled his fingers at them before bowing grandly. 

Viktor felt Yuuri shaking in his arms, and realized that he was laughing. 

“What’s so funny?”

Yuuri shook his head. “You know how I’ve been inspired pretty much completely by you?”

Viktor hummed. He’d probably hate that if anyone else said it, but when it was Yuuri, it warmed his heart. 

“Well, Phichit has had a lot of heroes. Mostly Thai dancers; few skaters have made it as far as he has. But when he realized how much I was obsessed with you, he started following Chris’s skating. It was a joke at first, thinking since I totally ignored most modern skaters it would annoy me, but in a friendly way. But then he got really _into_ Chris’s skating, and tried to imitate him. Our coach hated it, but eventually,” Yuuri paused, gesturing at Phichit and the bit of gluteal pudge that had escaped the bottom of his shorts, “all his exhibitions had a little bit of Chris in them.”

“So he’s probably ecstatic to finally meet him.”

Yuuri shrugged. “Probably. Chris and I were in a lot of competitions together as soon as I moved into seniors, and just knowing him from that, I think they have a lot in common.” 

“I think you have quite a bit in common with them, too.” 

Yuuri’s face grew warm where his cheek pressed against Viktor’s. “I mean, I guess so… I sleep around out of necessity, though. They do it just for fun.”

“Not anymore, you don’t,” Viktor said. His arms tightened around Yuuri’s middle. 

Yuuri laughed. “Of course!” He turned slightly so he could face Viktor, and pecked him on the lips. “Only you, now.” 

Beside them, Phichit stepped off the ice. When Yuuri turned his attention to him, Phichit put up his hands. “Oh, don’t stop kissing on my account.” He grinned, and then wider when Yuuri wound his arms around Viktor’s waist, the two of them in a mutual embrace. “The cameras are on you now. Sorry.” He appeared only a little guilty about it. 

Yuuri glanced over to the nearest camera; the possessive look he gave it made warmth pool in Viktor’s belly, and he leaned into Yuuri. Then he startled when a hand cupped his ass. 

“Yuuri!” Viktor whined. 

Phichit started laughing. “Wow, Yuuri. You’re usually more private than this.”

“He’s mine,” was Yuuri’s only response, and Viktor was certain that within hours some lip-reader would have posted some excited thing on the internet, trying to pick apart his words and ask questions about Viktor, who’d seemingly come up out of the blue to coach him. This Yuuri was a far cry from the one of three days prior, who worried that he would mess up and figure skating fans the world over would think it was because he was tired from riding Viktor too hard. Today, he’d done beautifully with his exhibition, and he _was_ worn out from dick; and here he was, pretty much throwing it in people’s faces. 

Chris joined them as well, already out of his skates and still the tallest of the group. “Excuse me, are we touching butts on camera without me?” 

Yuuri hissed at Chris, who drew back the hand that had been reaching for Viktor’s unclaimed cheek. He startled a little, then stepped back, even as Yuuri turned bright red and sputtered apologies. 

“Ah. So you really have claimed him, then.” Chris held up his hands. “That’s fine, though I must say I’ll miss you, Yuuri.” He smirked, still flirtatious. “Call me if you want a threesome.” 

“Foursome,” Phichit corrected. 

“I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon,” Yuuri said. He was thoroughly embarrassed about the whole situation, and wanted to sneak off with Viktor as soon as possible. They’d go back to the room, lay down, and have a nice, warm nap with their arms wrapped around one another and their scents intermingling. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you like viktor and yuuri being horny on main, check out my new BDSM AU, [internet safety](http://casnouveau.com/fanfiction/internetsafety.php)! it's hosted on my own website, as ao3's limited formatting doesn't support a lot of what i wanted to do, but there is an ao3 backup [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327696), with some reduced features and delayed updates. so far its been mostly online interaction for the hornyboys, but the prose is coming soon, i promise. 
> 
> comments fuel me. they make me strong.


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